Wallflower
by girlmonstering
Summary: Pansy's always played the perfect ice queen. Uncaring, untouchable. It makes things easier. After all, when you let your guard down, you get hurt. Everyone knows that. What happens when she gets tired of staying safe and alone? It's time to reach out and see whether the people around her are worth trusting and whether trust is ever worth it at all. Story better than the description
1. Wallflower

Wallflower

'Are you reading that book _again_?'

I looked up at him from my position on the common-room sofa.

'Evidently.'

The blonde figure standing a few feet away from me rolled its eyes. So I'd given an annoying answer- what did he expect, asking such inane questions?

'I'd compare you to Granger, but I think she reads different books.'

'Is that so?'

'Yes. I can't pretend to understand the mind of such a low creature, but I'd venture that this habit stems from a desire to learn new things.'

Oh, very clever. Clearly _someone_ had been brushing up on their vocabulary, just as his father had instructed.

'How very droll. Do you plan on saying something, or are you just going to stand there and annoy me all day?'

* * *

' _Again,_ Pansy?'

'Draco darling, we had this conversation yesterday.'

'Hence the emphasis on the word _again._ '

'Not again, darling, but still.'

'What do you see in it, honestly?'

I- what did I see in it. I liked the characters, liked reliving their odd twisted little existences with them. The neat way that things fell into place, like discordant notes forming a harmony.

'I think it's sweet.'

He rolled his eyes and sat down on the bed next to me. I was lying down, so I couldn't move out of the way. I'll admit, though, his arm around my shoulders was not the most unwelcome presence.

'Sweet? Pansy, dearest, don't let anyone hear you say that. It'll rather shatter the glacial demeanour you've spent so long curating.'

 _Glacial_. How very. I guess that sums it up.

Ice Queen. A nickname and a reputation. To the lesser houses I am known more often as Queen Bitch. A muggle reference, apparently.

Still. _Glacial_.

I was very aware of the soft warmth of the arm draped casually over me, and my cold stiffness next to it. It's not that I don't like or want it exactly, it's just that I'm never sure how to respond to it. Touch, that is. My parents were never really the hugging type, and at school I was too afraid of becoming vulnerable to ever really learn.

'Pansy, darling? Talk to me. I shall think you've fallen asleep.'

The mock formality is something that built up between us. The strict stratification of wizarding society means that we in the upper class seem to inhabit a different time period from the rest of our world. For years, until we reached Hogwarts, Draco and I thought that strict formality and victorian manners part of everyone's upbringing and expected behaviour. When we got to Hogwarts and met people our age outside of the tight social circle we'd grown up it, it emerged that this wasn't the case. I'd wanted to be like the others- learn to interact in a way that was genuine and friendly, but it was too difficult to break out of old habits and fears. Instead, we've settled on this parody of affection where the old words have new meanings, and nothing is ever quite as simple as it should be.

'I'm awake. In case you hadn't noticed, I was reading happily before you came in.'

When he laughed, I could feel the movement of his chest against my back. His voice was softer, now.

'Ice Queen.'

Gentle, almost.

If I closed my eyes, I could pretend that this was a normal situation, and I was just a normal girl on a bed with her boyfriend. I blushed at the word 'bed' in this context. Just... a girl. With her boyfriend.

'Of course.'

I felt the arm withdraw from around me and wanted to wince at the loss of warmth and contact.

'Wouldn't want to torment you with human contact for too long, would I? You might melt.'

It's so easy to fool people into thinking that you're not human. Play into a role, adopt all the little mannerisms, and you're the perfect picture of disconnect. Even he thought that I was this sexless, heartless creature I pretended to be.

If you never make yourself vulnerable, you can't be hurt.

If you never make yourself vulnerable, you can't really be happy, either.


	2. Drifting

Drifting

I lie here, still; a fixed point in this spinning world.

My lungs are full of frost, and I swear I can feel the ice in my bones. It's bitterly cold, and besides, I'm always cold. Not metaphorically, but physically. It took me a while to figure out that I was always cold, no matter the temperature. Still longer to understand that it was because of the way that my layers of flesh have composed themselves. Simply put, there is very little fat on my body, and I'm not doing much to remedy the situation. Quite the opposite, in fact.

'What are you doing out here?'

It's -

Oh.

I keep my gaze fixed on the stars above me. They're bright, here, in the absence of that revolting electrical light that Muggles pollute their cities with.

'I could ask you the same thing.'

The stars. They're bright... Pure.

When I was younger, I used to wonder what it would be like. To burn so hot, so brightly, for so long.

I hear footsteps approach me, and I don't hold my breath. Don't feel my muscles tense, don't become suddenly aware of the stone sill under my back and the precarious drop a few feet away from me. The chill air brushing over my skin.

'I don't think you're meant to go behind these barriers.'

'No?'

I hear him slip underneath the metal railing, and a shadow falls over the spot where I am lying.

'I believe they're there to stop us falling. Or throwing ourselves off, perhaps.'

The corner of my mouth quirks up. Almost a smile.

'Wouldn't happen anyway. This whole place is warded like you wouldn't believe.'

He sits down next to me, legs against the my calves where I've bent my knees. Does he even notice that we were touching? His heat makes me feel the cold even more bitterly.

'Ah. That makes sense, considering- Considering what happened.'

'Considering you tried to kill our headmaster here, you mean.'

He flinches. No point hiding from the past.

'Yes.'

That was mean, though.

How is one even meant to behave around people? Where is that precious line between sealing yourself in a lonely bubble and spilling your guts for the world to see? Perhaps the second is what you're meant to do, around friends, but I have no one to speak to so viscerally. I don't know if Draco counts. We're dating but I still don't know if he's my friend.

'Have you-'

I stop. Do I trust him?

'Have I what?'

Unexpectedly gentle. I close my eyes, and slant my leg against his, deciding to pretend, for this moment, that I am not so afraid; of people, of my own vulnerability.

'Have you ever wondered what it would be like if we- if we were like everyone else?'

My voice shakes on the last few words.

Not afraid not afraid not afraid.

A warm hand reaches out to rest on my knee.

I continue,

'No death eater parents. No pureblood upbringings.'

He laughs, a dry humourless sound.

'Well, I suppose, darling, that I wouldn't have tried to kill our headmaster. Although, as you persistently remind me, there is nothing I can do to that end now.'

'Sorry.'

I breath the word, feeling myself on completely unfamiliar ground. This wasn't a formal apology, done for the purpose of politics and ceremony. I feel him start slightly, next to me.

'It's alright.'

The hesitation is evident in his words, the tone, the slowness, and the way that he seems to have stopped breathing for a few seconds.

That makes two of us.

'And me? What would I be like, in this hypothetical situation of ours?'

 _Ours_. The word slips out before I can stop it. I'm going to flinch, but his hand is still on my knee, warm and reassuring, so I settle, for now, back into my delusions.

Not afraid. Not. Afraid. I. Am. Not. Afraid.

'Oh, you'd be the same as ever.'

'The same?'

'A little less pureblood, maybe. You might skip your junior death eater phase.'

I smile, the movement feeling unfamiliar to my frozen muscles.

'Yes? What of my character?'

He laughed softly, presumably amused by my narcissism. It's what I want from others. Used to think it was the only thing I wanted. To look into their eyes and see a reflection of myself. Beautiful. Interesting. Pretty. Lovely. Perfect. Lovely, darling, dearest. Centre of the universe.

I'm not sure what else I might want. Something more.

'Oh, sweet. You'd still be our Ice Queen. I'm quite certain you were born like this.'

Oh.

He's become formal again. For a moment there, I'd thought-

I thought we'd had some kind of a connection. That he'd seen past the walls I've put up and am begging him to knock down.

'Like what?'

He laughed again, the detachment more obvious now that I'm looking for it.

'Cold, darling.'


	3. Ghost-girl

Ghost-girl

There's an emptiness to it. A kind of haunting. I don't especially care about the weight or the fat. It started out for that reason, sure, but years of recovery and relapse and recovery has stripped things down to the mechanics of it (the bare bones, if you will. ha.).

Life, to me at least, is boring in a tired sort of way. Fun is apparently out there to be had, but fun is one of those concepts that tends to go along with friends and actual social skills and is as such largely unfamiliar to me. Instead the everyday is characterised by a hollow monotony. I measure it out in meals and portions and weight just to pass the time.

–

We were walking down the corridor together, from Potions to Charms, a handbreadth apart, silent. Lifetimes spent together, criss-crossed with rules and riddled with fear mean that we often find ourselves at a loss for anything to say. At least I do. As far as I know, Draco might just have tired of speaking to me.

We were walking, and I pictured us from above; frozen, while the other students, a world apart, streamed around us. Talking, laughing, holding hands.

I edged my palm a fraction of an inch to the side, amazed at my own boldness. How easy it would be to just reach out. I wondered, for a second, if I was brave enough to do it, to touch him. I went through the possibilities in my mind:

The best case scenario was a warm hand clasped around mine. A small gesture, unremarkable in these bright corridors.

The worst case scenario was ridicule and rejection. My heart, and the small possibility of a tender future, crushed.

I wondered how the possibility of the former could be worth the risk of the latter, at once urging myself to reach out and to keep myself distant and safe.

Then some red-headed twit bumbled past us, sending Draco careening into my shoulder; an inelegant trip in black and green silks. He struggled to regain balance, and keep from falling in the crush of students (a younger Gryffindor makes to shove at him, saying 'murdering git', and misses). His hand reaches out, flailing, to grab on to something, anything, my arm, fingers sinking through layers of fabric to take a firm hold.

I stop breathing, momentarily, trying at once to process the situation and commit every detail of this instant to memory.

He clings, before regaining his balance.

I find that I am still unable to breath. The sounds around me have become distorted, and I think the corridor is swimming before my eyes.

He is standing up straight, and walks several paces before noticing the way in which I am keeling over.

This is terribly undignified. It must look frightful, but I am bent double, trying not to fall.

He turns, frowning, and begins to walk back.

Draco reaches me just as I have collapsed to the floor, and a first-year begins to scream.

Idiot.

He bends down, and the last thing I see before blacking out is his scowling face.

'Pansy, what are you doing?'

–

I drifted back into consciousness a few minutes ago, but Madam Pomfrey hasn't noticed yet. She's busy tending to a second-year who's covered in boils; a potions experiment gone wrong. The wall-mounted clock tells me that it's five in the afternoon. I was out for several hours.

It's not class-time any more, but I don't have any visitors.

Madam Pomfrey notices that I am awake and approaches me with a vial of electric-blue nutritional potion. When I tip it down my throat it is sticky-sweet and rich in all of the ways that I hate. This feels like defeat and a slow kind of death, but I know from experience that it is not worth putting up a fight.


End file.
